


Between the Question and the Answer

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/F, Female Characters, Female Protagonist, Ficlet, Heteronormative, POV Female Character, POV Third Person, Present Tense, Smut, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-26
Updated: 2007-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-09 04:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	Between the Question and the Answer

Hermione's sweet. Oh, so sweet. They don't know the half of it.

Ginny laps up musky kisses from Hermione's lower lips and listens the sounds she makes, that sweet panting, breath hitched and broken and desperate. That's the true secret of sex, the space where lies can't penetrate, in the breath and in the moisture and in the heat.

A vague memory flits through her mind – Lavender, making noises as Ginny bites her neck – noises, but the wrong ones. They'd pushed together for a moment or two after the Hallowe'en feast, up in their room, before the others got back. Lavender tried to lie, to moan like a woman in a dirty photograph they'd once seen together, fluttering her eyelashes at the camera.

Ginny had no time for liars, and almost laughed later when she heard Lavender push up against Parvati that night. They were both liars.

Hermione wasn't.

Afterwards they lie sweaty and tangled together, hidden behind the drawn curtains of Ginny's bed. Ginny's own pale skin looks almost human in the half-light, resting against Hermione's cream and brown colours.

So sweet. Ron has no idea, nor Harry, or anyone who sees her walk the halls with her head held high, clutching some unearthly tome.

"You think too much," Ginny tells Hermione when she sees a frown blossom on her forehead, her eyes turn distant as they stare into the shadows. Ginny trails her fingers down Hermione's arm, then her side, drawing circles on the curve of her hip.

"You don't think enough," she replies, turning to Ginny. "You—"

She doesn't finish that sentence, because Ginny's not ready to let her slip away yet. She thinks more than Hermione knows. She knows what isn't likely to happen and what is, but she'll give her all the painful answers and the clarity and the distance that Hermione needs, but not now, not yet, not while this feast is still here before her, and there's a chance to hold the world out for a while longer.

So she kisses Hermione's lips (upper ones, soft and intimate and moist), letting her fingers find their way around Hermione's hips, down the inviting slope towards the sacred warm space between her legs. Hermione gasps and bends her back up, undulating, rising up against the touch.

Still so sensitive, still so raw, and Ginny brushes against her intensest spot ever so lightly, ever so quickly. Yielding easily, simply, Hermione opens her legs, and Ginny caresses the soft wet lips, slips her finger inside gently, moves it up and down, and kisses Hermione's neck, not leaving marks, not there, kisses Hermione's breast, nips at it, engulfs a perfect brown nipple between her lips, sucks on it, hard, biting, pulling. Hermione's moaning and moving against her now, thrusting up against her fingers, already wet from the last time, and getting more so. The smell of her. Her soft waist. Her breasts, small and pale. There's a birthmark just below her left ear. Her hair smells like acorns, for some unimaginable reason. Oh Hermione. Oh, Hermione.

She shudders, biting her lip, teeth nearly drawing blood, eyes shut tight, flushed and sweaty and beautiful, and her hips pump up against Ginny's hand, and then there it is, the short cry, the tightening of her muscles, the stillness at the summit, and the collapse.

Ginny watches her catch her breath, waiting, but not for long, she can't for long, and she takes Hermione's hand and puts it between her own legs. She sees Hermione's eyes open and focus, and she is turned on her back, pushed against the mattress, and then Hermione's returning the favour.

Sweet Merlin, sweet stars. Pleasure turns the world towards one simple objective for a minute, for a century, until glory bursts from between her legs, into her abdomen, to her chest, exploding into stars behind her eyes.

Her own breath. Hitched, panting, desperate. And then slowing down.

Hermione's weight on top of her. She opens her eyes. She keeps her eyes closed for a long while, prolonging the sweetness. When she opens them, she knows what she'll see: Hermione's face, the questions still remaining behind the twist of her small smile.

Answers: Just this once, means nothing, safer than with boys, it does no harm unless we think it does harm, and yes, I think I'll go out with Harry, if he asks me (and I know you'll go out with Ron, if he asks you, but you're not ready for me to say that). Let's forget this ever happened. (And if it happens again we'll forget again.)

She'll give them soon enough, when the bliss recedes enough.

A new question arises from the calm, one that Ginny hasn't already answered in her mind:

What if it isn't like this with boys?

But that one can wait to be answered.


End file.
